Page 109 of The Moonborn's Curse
The bond in her chest felt like a wound torn open-fresh, raw, and bleeding.
She reached the cottage on autopilot, her body moving even as her mind floated somewhere far above. She stepped through the door and went straight to the cupboard without hesitation. Her hands moved quickly, filling her backpack with the only things she could bring herself to care about - her few books, her phone, her laptop, and her camera.
In another bag, she stuffed a handful of clothes. Nothing else. She left the room untouched otherwise. Left behind the warmth, the art on the walls, the blanket Hagan had once wrapped around her shoulders when she'd fallen asleep on the couch.
She paused at the bed.
Just for a moment.
Her face crumpled. Just a flicker.
Then the mask dropped into place, and she turned away.
Only then did she realize she wasn't alone.
Veyr stood in the doorway.
Silent.
Watching her like she was something fragile that might shatter if he spoke too loudly.
She froze, her hands tightening on the bag straps.
"You're bleeding," he said gently.
She blinked, confused-then looked down.
Her bare foot was streaked with red. Somewhere along the way, she must've stepped on a stone.
Veyr stepped forward slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal.
"Sit."
When Veyr gently tried to guide her toward the bed, she veered away-choosing instead to limp up to the hard stool near the kitchen hearth. A small, silent defiance. A refusal.
Veyr crouched before her, took her foot carefully into his hands, and guided her toward the kitchen where the light was better. He found a clean cloth, water, and bound the wound with a strip of linen torn from a towel. His fingers were steady. Gentle.
She didn't flinch once.
She didn't speak.
She looked... hollow. Like something vital had been scooped out of her and left behind.
For once, Veyr wasn't expressionless.
His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tight. Rage simmered beneath his calm, his eyes nearly glowing with it-but he held it down. Barely.
When he was done, he slipped her worn moccasins over her feet, careful not to press too hard.
Then he looked up at her.
Words hovered on his lips-but he swallowed them.
It was too early for words.
Instead, he helped her to her feet. Collected her bags. And silently walked with her - each step slow, grounding - until they reached the Oracle's cottage.
The Oracle was already waiting.
